Page 69 of Can't Stop Watching

"Dane." My fingers trace the wolf tattoo on his ribs. "You don't have to treat me like I'll break."

His jaw tightens. "I don't want to remind you of?—"

"You won't." I pull him closer. "You're nothing like that."

"You don't know what I'm thinking right now." His voice has that gravelly quality that makes heat pool between my legs. "The things I want to do to you."

God, that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does.

"So show me." I look directly into those steel-gray eyes. "I said I trust you. And I'll tell you if I need you to stop."

Something shifts in his expression—hunger breaking through the restraint.

"You sure?" His thumb traces my bottom lip.

Instead of answering, I bite gently. A challenge.

The change is instant. He growls—actually growls—and pushes me back on the bed, pinning my wrists above my head with one strong hand.

"I've got you," he promises, his free hand working my jeans open. "Promise to saystop."

My body hums with anticipation, not fear. This isn't like before—not the helplessness, the violation, the shame. This is freedom. Choosing to give control to someone who sees my darkness and meets it with his own.

"I promise." I arch against him. "Now stop being so damn polite."

His laugh is dark and promising as he yanks my jeans down my legs.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, echoing his words from earlier, but this time there's nothing gentlemanly about it.

And when his mouth finds my inner thigh, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, I know I've unleashed something in him—something that matches the wildness I keep buried inside myself.

Dane buries his face between my legs without warning, making me cry out. His tongue is relentless, almost savage in its intensity. I grab fistfuls of sheets, my hips bucking against his mouth.

"Oh my god," I gasp, feeling myself already tightening around his fingers as he slides them inside me. It should be embarrassing how quickly he pushes me toward the edge, but I'm beyond caring about anything except the hot, wet pressure of his mouth.

"You taste so fucking good," he growls against me, the vibration of his words sending new shocks of pleasure through my body.

Just when I'm about to shatter, he pulls back. Before I can protest, his strong hands flip me onto my stomach in one swift movement.

"Up," he commands, tapping my hip, voice thick with need.

I rise to my knees, feeling exposed and vulnerable and impossibly turned on. His hand trails down my spine, possessive and appreciative.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes my insides clench.

His hands grip my ass possessively, fingers digging into my flesh with an intensity that makes me gasp. A flicker of anxiety mingles with my arousal—I've never done anal before, never even considered it. Is that what he wants? The question burns in my mind as his thumbs trace dangerous patterns, making my body tense with anticipation and uncertainty.

But then I feel him positioning himself behind me, the blunt pressure of him against my pussy's entrance making my breath catch. Even after last time, I'm not prepared for how big he is.

"Breathe," he reminds me, one hand gripping my hip.

He pushes forward slowly at first, the delicious stretch making me whimper. There's that burn, that ache that walks the line between pleasure and pain.

"Jesus," I hiss, dropping my forehead to the mattress. "How are you even real?"

He laughs darkly, pushing deeper. "You can take it. I know you can."

And then suddenly he's buried to the hilt, filling me so completely I can't think straight. He gives me just seconds to adjust before he starts moving—not gentle, not careful—with deep, hard strokes that have me clawing at the sheets.